


A Welcome Blasphemy

by w0rdinista (Niamh_St_George)



Series: Elinora Cousland [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Notes:  Alistair and Elinora finally make it to The Tent. NSFW, smutty-smut-smut, etc., etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Welcome Blasphemy

Of all the things Alistair might have anticipated when Elinora had asked him to train her as a Templar, this was the absolute _last_. Granted, teaching her the skills had been a bit sticky at first; it was nearly impossible to train someone in skills requiring concentration and mental fortitude, when marshalling his own thoughts was proving to be a monumental task. But she had picked up the skills despite his own distractions, which either spoke well of him as a teacher or of Elinora as a pupil. She also spent a great deal of time practicing, training herself in those talents; Alistair found it oddly gratifying to watch her put so much of herself into learning and perfecting the skills he'd taught her. Sure, the Chantry would have been furious with him for it, but her effort and dedication made all the risks worthwhile.

He had been there while she trained; he had helped her focus her mind and harness her will, and he had been present when she'd been hit by the force of those powers she'd unleashed. He'd seen that light within her, illuminating her, and even then he'd had an inkling that he was in a great deal of trouble – and none of it coming from the Grand Cleric.

But no matter how worthwhile the risks, Alistair had been completely unprepared for his eventual confrontation with the fruits of his labors. He knew that now. And having the force of such a realization hit you while on the battlefield, Alistair could not help but observe, even as he cut down a rampaging Genlock, was the utter height of inconvenience. But there it was.

They'd been half a day from Denerim when their party had unwittingly wandered into a darkspawn ambush. Swords flew from their sheaths, filling the air with a grinding hiss while Wynne and Morrigan armed themselves with glowing staves. Elinora took off at a run toward the darkspawn Emissary, as she frequently did; they'd found that shutting down, or simply distracting the Emissary made the battle run more smoothly for the rest of their companions. And, as Alistair frequently did, he ran alongside her as she charged the Emissary.

Then she stopped short, taking Alistair by surprise – this was not Elinora's usual strategy – and he turned, cursing himself even then for being distracted by the sudden change in tactics. Out of his peripheral vision he saw a short, stocky Genlock hurtling itself toward her; Alistair lowered his shoulder, ramming his sword into its middle and twisting with a wet crunch.

Then came the light. It shot down from above, filling her, bathing her with radiance. It gathered around Elinora for a moment, the power building as bright white wisps swirled around her. Then, when the intensity had built to bursting, she flung her arms out, her head tilting back as a burst of holy energy swallowed the Emissary, knocking him back and stunning him. It all happened in a sliver of time; the light faded and Elinora slammed the stunned Hurlock with her shield, swinging her sword as she cut the monstrosity down. The skirmish was soon over, and they were free to continue the walk to Denerim.

But that one moment – that tiny fraction of time – kept playing itself over and over in Alistair's head. He'd seen it so clearly, the way her will had manifested itself into light and energy, gathering under her skin, illuminating her eyes like sunlit emeralds. It was blasphemy, he was sure, but in that instant, Alistair had been certain that Andraste herself could not have been more striking. He couldn't get the memory of her out of his mind – her head tipped back, rosy lips parted, cheeks flushed. The sight of her like that, and every flash of memory thereafter, sent a sharp rush of desire pulsing through him, setting each and every nerve aflame. He could barely look at her now without his mind taking a sharp turn towards more heady pleasures – not that he'd had an easy time of it before; it was just on his mind a good deal more frequently _now_.

They stopped in Denerim to trade for supplies and as they walked through the marketplace, Alistair was keenly aware of Elinora's movements: the gentle sway of her hips even beneath her armor, the tilt of her head as she examined the balance of a dwarven longsword, the way she smiled at the children running pell-mell through the square. His pulse jumped every time her hand touched his, which didn't happen infrequently, and that annoyed him more than anything – he hadn't been exactly experienced when he'd first met Elinora, but he'd believed himself to be past the point where he forgot his name every time she touched him.

_Not so, apparently_, he thought, suppressing a shiver as, during the walk back to the campsite, Elinora slid her hand slid into his, lacing their fingers. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they walked, his heart contracting when she ducked her head, a pleased smile warming her lips. How did she manage that, he wondered – sending his mind to all sorts of Wrong and Sinful places one moment, and then making him feel warm and loved and _important_ another. He'd stumbled all over the words before, but it had been true even then, and remained true now – she was a rare and wonderful thing, and deserved so much better than a cold campsite with darkspawn lurking in the shadows.

He'd thought of _it_, of course. It. _It_, with a capital "I." How could he possibly not? He'd tried, naturally – had made quite an effort and still did – to simply... not think about it. It just didn't do, thinking about that all the time. But when she was pressed against him, her lips pliant and warm against his, making some of the most delicious mewling sounds as her fingers knotted in his hair, clenching at his clothes...

Well. It was all enough to make him wish for a _very cold bath. _

But the truth of the matter was, when he entertained those thoughts, they were usually set somewhere with a proper bed at the very least. A hot meal, some good wine, and a real bed – a soft feather mattress with pillows and clean sheets. And then reality hit him, as it always did: he could barely remember the _last_ time he'd slept in a proper bed, never mind future plans to locate one.

And the sharper, clearer truth was this: if he put this off any longer, it would be too late. There would be no magical, perfect opportunity, and yet that didn't detract him from still wanting to be with her in that very particular capacity.

After the mess from dinner had been cleared away, Elinora stood, brushing the dirt and grass from her trousers, and made her way to a far corner of the camp. Squaring his shoulders, Alistair followed.

"Elinora?"

She turned, a ready smile at her lips. "Yes, Alistair?"

He realized, in that moment, he had not the first idea what to say, or if he really wanted to say it at all. Certainly, he _wanted_ to. He just wasn't sure how... good an idea it was. How... receptive she'd be. And yet, it was too late to turn around and go back to his spot by the campfire.

Elinora's smile turned slightly quizzical. "...Alistair?"

He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt too tight. "Are you... terribly busy?"

Her shoulders lifted in a minute shrug. "I was going to train a little."

Alistair's smile was automatic, and laced with more than a little pride. "You did quite well today, you know. Dispatching the Emissary."

"Thank you. It... took more out of me than I expected," was her somewhat sheepish admission. "So I suppose that means I need more practice."

"Quite the dedicated student. I'm impressed." Then Alistair paused, suddenly uncertain. "Do you... need any help?"

"I doubt it will be terribly thrilling, Alistair," she laughed.

"Well, I could still... offer tips?" _I am a very bad man. _

That quizzical look returned as she regarded him. "Is that... why you wanted to talk to me? About training?"

"Well, no," he admitted reluctantly, "but..."

"Then, whatever it is, we probably ought to discuss it now – I'm not a very good conversationalist when I'm working on some of those skills. It still takes a lot of concentration, I'm afraid."

Alistair would have gladly exchanged the imminent conversation for watching Elinora practice some of her Templar skills. He was about to demur, pretend he'd forgotten everything he wanted to talk about, and generally play stupid, when his fellow Warden did something entirely unfair: she smiled at him. It was an open, trusting grin, lopsided and charming, and something about the nature of that smile gave him the strength to plunge on, Maker help him.

"All right," he blurted, casting a quick glance around to make sure no one was listening. He still had no real idea what he was going to say, and mainly was just hoping against hope that once he started speaking, the words would manifest themselves magically in his brain.

Yes, because that always worked out _so well. _

"I guess I really don't know how to ask you this."

Not the best start ever.

"...Are you sweating?" Elinora asked, coming a bit closer and raising her hand to touch his forehead, but Alistair ducked away nimbly, certain that even the slightest contact would be his undoing, one way or another.

"No! I mean yes. I mean... I'm a little nervous, sure. Not that this is anything bad or frightening or... well, yes. Oh, how do I say this?" _You could stop babbling inanely for one. Focus, Mister Mental Fortitude is Among My Greatest Strengths as a Templar. _ "You'd think it would be easier, but every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode. I-I can't think straight."

_Oh, yes_, he thought, trying not to cringe at the words leaving his mouth. _Utter poetry. Bravo. Exploding brains are ever so romantic. _

She laughed, then, but not unkindly, crossing her arms over her breasts and tilting her head speculatively at him. "Oh, thanks a lot."

_I'm going to ruin this. I'm going to ruin the one damned decent thing I've got going for me, and I'm going to ruin it because, when it counts, I can't manage to string words together in a fashion not rife with idiocy! _ With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I don't mean it like that," Alistair said, sure Elinora could hear his heart thundering away in his chest. "I mean..." He paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "All right, let me start over." She continued to watch him, but the amused tilt of her lips was fading away, her expression growing more sober. He took what solace he could from that and went on:

"Here's the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you." And even as Alistair spoke the words, he was struck by their truth and certainty. Despite the fact that he knew how uncertain not only their futures were, but the future of Ferelden as well, his words were not only true, but left him bare before her. "Not ever," he added quietly. "I don't know how to say this another way: I want to spend the night with you. Here, in the camp. Maybe this is too fast, I don't know, but... I know what I feel."

The silence that followed could only have lasted a few seconds, but they ticked by as if several eternities.

She licked her lips and he wished he wasn't so distracted by that. "You want to spend the night?" she asked, hesitantly. "Are you sure?

It wasn't an outright rejection, and, emboldened, Alistair continued, the words rushing forth again. "I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place...but when will it _be_ perfect? If things were, we wouldn't even have met. We sort of... stumbled into each other, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else." She took his hands then and he looked down at the way their fingers interlaced. His pulse was still thrumming away, but that touch quieted something inside of him. "I really don't want to wait anymore. I've... never done this before. You know that. I want it to be with you, while we have the chance. In case..."

"No need to say anything else. I agree."

He stared, not sure he heard correctly. "You what?"

But Elinora was already wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself, all hard muscle and glorious curves, against him.

"I agree," she murmured against his lips. "In fact, I was starting to fear you might never ask."

"Wait, what?" He pulled back, blinking at her. "You were... _waiting_ for me to...?"

She kissed him again and let out a soft laugh that vibrated against his lips, making him shiver in delight, then kissed a path to his ear. "Alistair," she whispered, "do you have any idea why I spend so much time training?"

All coherent thought fizzled out as her whisper tickled across his skin. "Er..."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might require a... distraction?"

"...I am fairly certain that's not an appropriate application of those particular skills," he managed, wondering when his voice had gotten so husky.

"Anything to clear my mind." She laughed again, and there was the tinge of nervousness to it; he shivered harder, pulling her even closer now. Clearly the thing to do was to make their way to his tent. Or hers. Any tent would do, really, and preferably _before_ he lost his nerve.

No. No, he wasn't going to lose his nerve; while the timing would never be perfect, that didn't mean it wasn't _right. _

\---

Elinora pressed against Alistair, her heart pounding as she began to grasp precisely what it was they were about to do. She'd thought about it, obviously – had given the matter great thought, in fact. So much thought that she frequently needed time alone to... think, and then recover from all of that heavy contemplation.

Entirely by accident, she discovered that practicing the skills Alistair had taught her helped Elinora clear her mind of such distracting trains of thought. In fact, Elinora found she was frequently so exhausted after spending any amount of time practicing the Templar arts, she hadn't the energy to engage in other flavors of deep thought.

But now...

She pulled away and looked up at him, feeling suddenly, unaccountably shy. "We should..." she looked off in the direction of their tents.

Alistair only smiled and nodded slowly, reaching down and slipping his hand into hers. She squeezed gently and his fingers tightened gently around her hand in turn. "Yes," he said softly. "I suppose we should."

Alistair's tent was closer, and despite that, the walk to that simple structure seemed to take three lifetimes. She was completely aware of every inch of skin on her body, the blush warming her cheeks; the way Alistair's warm, calloused hand felt pressed against her own palm; and the way that low hum of awareness that always seemed to thrum to life in Alistair's presence now kicked up in her veins. He pulled back the tent flap and Elinora ducked in, settling on her knees and sitting back on her heels as Alistair closed and tied the flap shut. His hands were shaking slightly, which Elinora found strangely reassuring.

The space inside the tent was almost laughably small, and a sudden peal of nervous laughter bubbled up in her throat as Alistair moved carefully to kneel in front of her. There was a brief, uncertain moment wherein neither seemed to know when or how to start.

That moment passed.

Alistair reached out, taking her hand in his and gently tugging her close, the woolen shirts they wore beneath their armor scratching softly at the contact. Elinora hooked an arm around his neck, as his mouth closed over hers, loving the way he felt against her, warm and solid, the way his hands met at the small of her back, exploring slowly until they met skin, the touch making her shiver hard and draw in a ragged gasp as he drew her shirt upwards, his fingers drawing light, teasing patterns on her skin. Elinora's fingers convulsed, gripping the rough material of his shirt, and pulling at it with far less patience than Alistair himself was demonstrating.

With every inch of skin revealed, the kiss deepened and intensified until Elinora was mewling needily against his lips; when Alistair's teeth caught her swollen lower lip, she twisted hard against him with a ragged gasp that only encouraged Alistair to do it again. They parted breathlessly, only long enough to help each other pull their shirts up and off in an awkward sort of dance, leaving Alistair bare and Elinora wearing only the linen strips she bound her breasts with.

She swallowed hard, looking at him now – _letting_ herself look at him, letting herself reach out, her fingers drifting over the contours of his musculature, tracing the lines of his scars with one short fingernail. She'd _seen_ him without his shirt before, of course, but she'd never truly _looked_; when her eyes finally made their way up to his again, she was struck by the intensity of his gaze.

"Well? Do I pass inspection?" Alistair asked quietly, his voice shaking minutely despite his amusement.

"As if there was any doubt," she whispered, letting a smile warm her own lips. Then his hands slid up to rest lightly on the linen strips and the smile vanished in a gasp as Elinora's eyes slid shut.

"May I?" he murmured, dipping his head to press a kiss against her collarbone.

"Please do." Elinora lifted her arms and held her breath, her pulse pounding in her ears as she felt his hands, warm and rough and perfect, coast upward, fingers searching out that one loose end. After taking what Elinora considered to be _far too much time_ finding it, he pulled the piece of linen free. It fell away with a whisper of sound, the long, trailing strip pooling around her waist. The breath she'd been holding came out with a slight shudder as she realized Alistair was watching her intently. Elinora swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of every bruise, every bandaged injury, every scar littering her body, but when she lifted her hands to cover these marks, Alistair caught her wrists.

"Don't," came his ragged whisper.

"Alistair, I—"

"You're beautiful." And he wrapped his arms around her, sealing his mouth over hers and pulling her close even as he eased her back onto the bedroll. His mouth trailed from her lips to her jaw, pressing a series of warm kisses across her skin, down her neck and along the line of her breastbone, making Elinora gasp and shudder beneath him. His hands slid down to the curve of her waist, fumbling shakily with the fastening on her trousers, and then pulling the material down her legs, only to realize she still wore her boots. A slight shuffle followed as Alistair wrestled with one boot and then the other, breathing a soft, nervous chuckle as he did so.

"Blasted things," he muttered, finally pulling the boots and trousers free and casting them aside and looking at her again. Elinora bit her lip, watching him, and noticing that now it seemed to be his turn to battle a sudden swell of shyness. A blush warmed his cheeks as he looked down at her and his hands clenched uselessly a few times before going to the fastenings on his own trousers – stopping short and going to his boots first.

The soft rustle of fabric followed and soon he was as undressed as she. Elinora swallowed hard, looking down and reaching out, the tips of her fingers brushing the flat of his abdomen.

"Slowly," he managed, his voice hitching.

"I've never..."

"I know. Me neither," he answered hoarsely, crawling over her; Elinora's skin hummed everywhere their bodies touched, flesh gliding against flesh. "We'll just..." his hand rested on the swell of her hip, fingers stroking gently, "go... slowly."

Skin on skin contact was entirely new territory, and Elinora let out a low, pleased moan, almost a purr, as she pressed harder against Alistair, reveling in the feel of him against her.

He buried his face in her neck, letting out a soft, husky laugh. "Slowly, I said."

"I haven't even done anything yet," Elinora laughed breathlessly. And then she felt him press meaningfully against her hip and something hot and urgent throbbed deep in her belly.

"That's what _you_ think."

A not-entirely-gentle nibble on her neck punctuated his words as one of his hands slid up from her hip, following the curve of her waist and ribcage until his fingertips brushed the sensitive underside of one breast, the touch jolting her to her core as she sucked in a sharp gasp. The result was instant: fire followed in the wake of his touch and Elinora's pulse pounded harder, her pale skin flushing with pleasure.

An unexpectedly clear thought rose from the muddle of arousal that was Elinora's brain: _Two can play at this_. She ran her hand down the line of his spine, following the lines of bone and muscle around to his hip—

"Elinora—"

\--and then downward, keeping her touch feather-light as she carefully stroked his blood-heated erection. Alistair dropped his head against her shoulder with a low groan.

"Again?" she asked in a soft whisper, kissing the skin below his ear.

"Maker's blood, _please_..."

She obliged, more boldly this time, loosely closing her hand around the length, stroking him, loving every gasp and shudder she felt rock through him. So focused on this was she, Elinora was barely aware of Alistair's hand coasting down the length of her body, searching out the warmth between her legs. He closed his mouth over hers the moment he slid his fingers into that slick heat, swallowing her moan. The welcome invasion sent sparks dancing across her nerves and Elinora parted her legs, the better to give him access, purring into his mouth as he stroked her, gently, slowly, his body meeting and rubbing against hers as she arched in response.

Elinora's skin grew hotter and began to feel tight, as an odd sort of frustration began bubbling up inside of her. A deep ache that had started in her belly was now throbbing its way through Elinora's body; her breaths came harder and faster, their kisses taking on a rougher edge as they nipped and nibbled at each other's lips, teeth clicking together, breathy, ragged moans filling the tiny tent. Her hands searched out the rest of him, short, practical nails scratching dull red marks down his back, even as she lifted her hips against him – a movement that was as much silent invitation as it was a plea.

Alistair pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. The brand of silent communication that they had developed on the battlefield had carried over even here; she knew what he was asking, and she nodded once, suddenly nervous all over again.

"Slowly..." he breathed. "I don't want to..."

"You won't. I trust you." She licked her lips, angling herself slightly.

She felt him draw in a breath and hold it as he settled between her legs, pressing his erection against her slick flesh, clenching his eyes shut as he continued to press against and soon into her. Elinora closed her eyes and drew in a breath, tightening her arms around Alistair as he moved against her. She felt that him bury himself to the hilt, filling her, a welcome intrusion, a sensation that was not entirely pleasant and yet not wholly unpleasant either.

"Wait," she whispered. Instantly, Alistair froze.

"What—" he began pulling back, but Elinora hooked one leg around his waist, then the other, holding him still.

"Just... wait. Please," she gasped. He nodded, though she could feel him trembling against her. Her own body thundered with a deafening pulse as she shifted beneath him, adjusting, and slowly welcoming the intrusion. Gradually, that not-quite-pleasure warmed into something more, something that worked in concert with the pulse thrumming through her body.

The more she moved, however minutely, the more she felt the tension build between his shoulders.

"Elinora," Alistair ground out raggedly. "You're doing an excellent job of driving me quite mad right now."

Elinora breathed a chuckle, unhooking her legs and Alistair groaned in appreciation, now free to move against her, slowly. Doing so unlocked a myriad of new sensations and Elinora gasped, arching her back and lifting her hips, grinding hard against Alistair, her arms tightening, clutching him to her as he moved. And with every shift, every stroke, every thrust, it felt as if light and heat were building in her veins, gathering along her nerves. Every breath tore into her lungs, and she tilted her head back, looking at Alistair above her, flushed and perfect. Her heart pounded, hard and she closed her eyes and lifted her hips again, grinding hard, when something _changed_. The pressure that had been building seemed to contract within her, pulsing deeply, spreading out from that deep, hidden spot in her belly, making her skin tingle, her toes curl.

Her eyes flew open. "Oh, _Maker_…"

Alistair lifted his head suddenly, eyes sharp with alarm. "Elinora—"

"_Don't. Stop. _"

He didn't.

When it felt as if her body simply couldn't take anymore, the ball of pressure that had been growing tighter and tighter within her began to crack and fissure, slowly at first, but then it was as if something snapped suddenly, sending wave after wave of sensation coursing, pulsing through her. Her body moved of its own accord, hips lifting and grinding as Alistair rocked into her, but then he was moving faster, his breath coming in ragged, desperate pants. And when that tension seemed as if it could build no more, it too broke; Alistair arched, hard, his breath catching as he buried himself in her, his mouth sealing hungrily over hers, kissing her hard enough to bruise as his body rocked against her, over and over again until he broke the kiss, pulling away only long enough to sink bonelessly against her.

Breathing hard, they lay there in a tangle of limbs for a long moment before carefully rearranging themselves. Elinora snuck a glance at Alistair as he sat up, searching around for a blanket. Her features relaxed into a sleepy, content smile as she watched him, and when looked over and met her gaze, a few seconds ticked by before he smiled in turn, shaking out the blanket and covering them both with it. Elinora's legs ached and the rest of her was oddly sore as well, but she was too spent to worry too much about it. Instead, she curled onto her side, smiling sleepily as Alistair hooked an arm around her and tucked her body close against his.

Elinora chuckled sleepily as she settled in. "I see you meant the whole night."

He pressed a kiss against the back of her neck. "Well, you are free to go if you'd like."

She twisted, smiling up at him and arching her back to press a gentle kiss against his mouth. "Bluffing again?"

He grinned against her lips. "Damn, she saw right through me. Again."

A moment ticked past and changed; Alistair's grin softened and seemed to grow almost melancholy as he looked at her. She reached up, trailing the backs of her fingers across his cheek when he caught her hand, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

"I... don't know what comes next," he murmured, his lips brushing her fingers.

"Don't you think it's rather... premature to make any sort of plans?" She leaned up to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "We don't know what the future holds, Alistair."

"So what do you propose?"

"Live in the present. Seize it. Make it ours for as long as we can. Live." Even as she said the words, she felt them reverberate deep inside. Life was far too uncertain; she knew that better than most.

"Survive, you mean."

"No, not simply survive," Elinora replied, pulling him down for a lingering kiss. "_Live_."


End file.
